Old beggar maid

An old beggar maid sits in the peepul’s shade ,

Her sari is as wrinkled as her face-

And a study in contrast between her present and past

Are her lined brow, and clear, calm gaze.

Each wrinkled fold on her forehead tells

Of suffering, pain and sorrow.

But her twinkling eyes seem ready to size

Up and eager to welcome the morrow.

She has nothing to fear, even Death does not leer

At a warrior who follows her creed- rejecting  insecurity and greed .

I wonder , whether , after Life’s fierce storm

Has she reached a permanent port of calm,

Or, is this a hiatus, and her spirit must go on

To a different Time in a different form?







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